


The Battle of Azanulbizar

by Emimar



Series: Tolkien Twitter RP Shorts [5]
Category: The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4296609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emimar/pseuds/Emimar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of my twitter rp shorts. </p><p>The account is @guardoferebor</p><p>It is the story of what happened to Loni's parents and their friends at the battle.</p><p>It is a solo, so there's none of the script style writing which my others have. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Battle of Azanulbizar

The day's battle was over and Sindri, a soldier under the command of Lord Fundin, made his way wearily to the feasting tent where he knew his expectant wife, and young son would be waiting for him to join them. Vrindr was unable to fight in the war because of her condition, but she still had the desire and determination to help in anyway she could, and she did that by working in the kitchen tents, preparing food for the camp, and by assisting the healers caring for the wounded soldiers. Her work, and that of her friend, Svarri, were often over-looked but without their assistance, Thrain's army would have crumbled along time ago. They and dwarrows like them were the backbone of the army and no one could deny that. But if he was honest with himself, however much he enjoyed their company, he would have preferred them to be far away from here, in the Shire, where they were safe from harm, but there was no arguing with the lass and he accepted her choice.

Today, the battle had been a difficult one, with many lives lost. There was no time to bury those who had fallen, and great fires had been made instead. The smoke from the fires filled and tainted the air and he was in a dark mood as a result. He looked forward to resting in the tent with his family, and take nourhisment, though he didn't feel like eating. He would, because he needed to keep his strength up and he would be in the battle again in the morning. Would the fighting ever end? He was weary of it, but continued, out of a deep sense of loyalty to his king and the dwarf lord he served, and of a hope of giving his family a real home. It was that hope and loyalty which all the dwarves possessed, and which gave them the strength to carry on, despite the fact that they were exhausted and their numbers dwindled by the day.

The sound of a dwarrodam singing, her voice soft and clear, reached his ears as he made his way through the rows of sleeping tents and a smile crossed his face as he recognized that voice as his Vrindr. After a moment, or two, two more voices joined in with that song, Svarri, the healer, and keeper of sheepdogs, and the shield-maid, Bild. It was strange that a sound of happiness should be heard near a battle field, but it had the desired effect of lifting his spirits, in combination with the scent of cooking food, as he reached the tent flap and walked through into the tent.

He waited at the threshold, so that he could listen to the dwarrowdams sing their song. It was one that he knew well, that of Durin's Awakening and it always filled him with hope whenever he heard it because it sang of a world untarnished by the ravages of war, and gave the promise that perhaps one day, it could be so again. When the last lyric died away, he stepped forward and embraced his Vrindr. Looking around, he noticed the presence of a weary looking Hreidmar, the shield-maid's brother, sat on one of the benches at one of the tables, with a well-deserved mug of mead in front of him. He was an apprentice black smith, like his sister and when not in battle, they were working with their uncle, Hanar, to make and repair armour and weapons which were vital for the war effort. In a corner of the tent, sat in a group were the dwarves Hlevang, Athiof and Moidvithir. The later two were playing a game of hnefatafl, while the other spoke with his wife, Skafid, whom, like his own Vrindr, was heavily expecting. Skafid served food, mead and ales to the soldiers of Thrain's army. All of the dwarrows were soliders serving Lord Fundin. Sindri was glad to rest and replenish his spent energy, and enjoyed an evening with his friends, but in the back of the dwarrow's mind, he knew that battle would commence once again come the morn.

Vrindr placed a kiss on her husband’s cheek, and a moment later, a young boy emerged, and with a cry of “Adad!”, the boy flung his arms around him. Smiling warmly at his son, he lifted him into his arms and for a short time, the weariness of the day melted away. This was what he, and the other soliders in Thrain’s army were fighting to protect and make a future for.

“Andvari, your father is tired, so behave yourself, and don’t make a nuisance of yourself - alright, lad?” Vrindr said.

The dwarlfing nodded in acknowledgement of his mother’s words. “I will, Amad,” he promised. He understood, but it wasn’t easy for the lad living in camp. There were no other dwarrows his age, because they were far away from the war camp for their own safety, being cared for by dwarrows unable for various reasons to fight in Thrain’s army. There were times when the lad was lonely, or got frustrated that he couldn’t play freely and was forced to spend all his time with his mother in the kitchens and healing tents.

“It’s alright, Azyungâl,” the battle-worn solider reassured her. “Our son is no annoyance to me - that is purely the forte of the orcs!” When the burden of battle got a little too much for Sindri, he would attempt to mask it by humour, and his wife, knowing this, made no comment. The war was hard on all of them. Instead, she decided to uplift her husband’s spirits by seeing to his needs.

“Sindri, you must be hungry, my dear,” she takes hold of his arm and, in an awkward manner because of her large belly - she was very late in her pregnancy now - she steered him towards a table that was unoccupied.

Svarri, who had been paying attention to the proceedings, interrupted.

You sit yourself down too, Vrindr. Your husband is not the only one in your family who is weary after being on your feet all day.“ Vrindr, was about to grumpily protest at the assessment but a nod from Sindri told her that she should take the weight off her feet as he sat down on the simple wooden bench with Andvari in his lap.

Svarri brought him a bowl of soup that was simmering in a pot on the cooking fire, along with some hard, almost stale bread. It was strange to detect the smell of cooking food mixed in with the thick smoke of the funeral pyres that were currently burning, and looking back at the two dwarrows engaged in playing a game of hnefatafl, he scowled, wondering how they could be doing something so normal in the middle of a war.

He tried to hide his disappointment at the bread as he dipped it into his soup to soften it, but Vrindr must have caught his expression.

"After this evening, there will be no bread left at all. The orcs are intent on cutting off our supply lines and so far, they are succeeding,” she explained. It had been a problem that had been growing in severity over the past couple of weeks, something which the cooks had been able to deal with but the supply problems were beginning to take their toll.

“There is no need for you to apologise, Vrindr,” he replied. “We have endured hardship before - it was the same after Smaug drove us out of the mountain.”

He recalled that time only too well despite being a dwarfling at the time. It had been pure luck and luck alone that had allowed him and the other dwarves he was in the company of right now who had been present all those years ago. Bild, Hreidmar, Skafid, and Hlevang. Hlevang’s companions had not been with them - they had joined the group later. Svarri had not been there, either. Of all the dwarrows present, her background was, to say the least, the most mysterious. Not a great deal was known about her, but the fact that she possessed a good heart shone through because she went among the injured dwarrows with her dogs during and after the battles and searched for survivors she could assist, a dangerous task in itself. But this dwindling of supplies was a cause for great concern. If it continued, it would severely effect the ability of Thrain’s army to fight the orcs. Sindri would have insisted that Vrindr take Andvari and leave for a safer place, but there was no way she could have made it in her current condition and she was safer where she was.

The soup consisted of carrots, onions, leeks, potatoes, and parsnips - to his annoyance, there was no meat. Another consequence of the orcs cutting off their supply chain, no doubt. Game had long since fled the area, frightened away by the orcs and the fighting. Even if a group of dwarrows could be spared to hunt, nothing would have been found.

Vrindr was silent throughout the rest of his meal, and just as he was finishing his last mouth full, there was a scraping of stools and packing crates used as seats as Lord Fundin and his sons, Balin and Dwalin entered the kitchen tent. The work for the day was not yet over.


End file.
